


So Here We Are

by tellmeaboutthedream



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: 5+1 Things, F/M, Includes Han/Leia, M/M, some major changes to canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-24
Updated: 2016-02-24
Packaged: 2018-05-22 23:59:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6098216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tellmeaboutthedream/pseuds/tellmeaboutthedream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Han turns away from his ship, huddling further into his coat, vaguely grumpy about the fact that they had to settle on a hellish ice planet when he knew damned well most of the rebels had no fur to protect them from the cold. Sniffing, irritated, he stalks off, weaving past various scurrying rebels and makes his way to the vacant room Luke had commandeered as a training space. </p><p>---</p><p>Or: Five times Han asks Luke to come with him, and one time Luke asks Han to stay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	So Here We Are

**Author's Note:**

> In the first scene below, I borrowed a lot of dialogue from ANH, and a few more lines from ESB in a later scene. Also, I usually have my notes at the bottom, but I just needed to say that while I ticked off 'Chose Not to Use Archive Warnings', if you are very concerned, and don't really mind spoilers for the absolute end of the fic, I have it noted down in the end notes!
> 
> Onward!

Han just barely holds himself back from scoffing when he sees the plan the rebels had cooked up. Incredulous and strangely angry, he can only shake his head and turn on his heel, intent on obtaining his promised reward and getting the hell away from the base before anybody got any ideas about recruiting him or Chewie.

Unfortunately, he might be slightly too late on that last count.

Han knows Luke. Or perhaps more accurately, he knows Luke's type. The type who would willingly wander around the enemy's fortress to save someone he didn't know. The type who would go all in for a half-assed plan that had a one in a millionth shot of working. The type who'd die long before they could understand what exactly they were dying for.

And the type who unthinkingly expects others to do the same.

So he knows what to expect, when, later, he first sees the approach of inviting golden hair and accusing blue eyes. Clad in orange and white, with the careless gait of the foolishly brave, Han knows he's lost the kid before he'd ever had a chance to fight for him. Ignoring Chewbacca's amused snort, he turns and eyes the kid over the pile of boxes.

"So," Luke begins, eyes narrowing, "You got your reward and you're just leaving, then?"

Han straightens, crossing his arms, indignant at Luke's attempt to make it seem like he was the one at fault just for refusing to take part in a venture doomed to fail. No, he'd served his sentence of youth- thinking himself invulnerable and his presence instrumental in anything he'd deemed important- he wasn't going to allow Luke to force Han to share in his.

"That's right, yeah!" he shoots back, "I got some old debts I got to pay off with this stuff."

Reminding Luke, reminding himself that his job- his only job- is smuggling. He's gotten his payment; the deal is done- they owe each other nothing. No amount of lowered lashes, almost seductive tones or inviting heat hovering just out of reach is going to change his mind.

 _Or reward_ , he sounds out deliberately in his mind, firmly telling himself that it was the money that had changed his mind about a rescue attempt that really shouldn't have worked.

Shaking his head with a frown, he continues, "Even if I didn't, you don't think I'd be fool enough to stick around here, do you?"

One look at Luke's expression tells him that, yes, Luke did expect him to be fool enough to do so, regardless of the fact that Han was quite happy smuggling with the Falcon and Chewie, and fully expected to have many years of it, filled with dangers he would actually have a chance of escaping.

It hits him all over again, how young Luke is, how hopeless this mission is. He wants to insist he knows what's best, entertains the thought of just knocking Luke out and stashing him on the Falcon until they've traveled far enough away for Luke to forget about the entire thing. His lips almost quirk into a smile at the image. Tempting as it may be, however, he knows he can't force the kid to give it up. Still, maybe if Luke knows he has another option...

"Why don't you come with us? You're pretty good in a fight. I could use you."

Even as he says the words, Luke’s expression makes it clear that staying with Han had not crossed his mind, and Han can only watch as he easily dismisses the idea. Stung, Han fights off the unexpected wave of hurt and prepares himself for a swift rejection. He isn't disappointed.

Luke's features twist into incredulity, and it's clear Han has just shattered whatever belief Luke had left in him.

 _Good_ , Han thinks, unconvincing even to himself, _the fewer illusions he has about me, the better._

"Come on! Why don't you take a look around? You know what's going to happen, you know what they're up against. They could use a good pilot like you. You're turning your back on them!"

 _Alright then_ , Han thinks, temper rising, _I tried_.

"What good's a reward if you ain't around to use it?" he snaps, no longer willing to soften blunt words, "Besides, attacking that battle station ain't my idea of courage. It's more like suicide."

He watches, taking no pleasure in the way Luke straightens, injured, indignation rolling off him in waves.

"Alright," Luke says, blue eyes shining with hurt and anger, "Well, take care of yourself, Han. I guess that's what you're best at, isn't it?"

Han refuses to flinch at the parting shot as Luke steps away. It's more difficult than he expects; Luke's voice was not made to cut, and that made it all the more painful.

Swallowing, Han accepts the hurt, absorbs it enough to feel some regret at sending the kid off with a... less than encouraging farewell.

"Hey, Luke," he calls out, already uncertain if he should continue as Luke turns back impatiently, "May the force be with you."

He throws Luke what he hopes is a confident grin and curses himself when Luke frowns slightly in confusion- wondering if Han was mocking him, most likely- and finally raises his hand in an unsure wave before resuming his path away from Han.

Raking a hand through his hair, he allows himself a brief sigh before lifting another box, stepping up to the speeder to load it, studiously ignoring Chewbacca's disapproving growls. He isn't sure why Chewie seems to be so invested in the rebellion, but he can't afford to second-guess himself. Not now.

 _I know what I'm doing_ , he insists stubbornly.

A mantra he later repeats when, with a groan, he turns the Millenium Falcon right back around, grumbling about hard-headed, naive farm boys who didn't know a good exit route when they saw one.

"This is gonna be the last time, Chewie," he says, gritting his teeth when Chewie only snorts, amused, in response.

 _This last time_ , he repeats to himself, _and maybe Luke'll have gotten it all out of his system._

Han could use another mechanic. 

* * *

It worked.

The plan worked, and Han has never been so happy to be wrong. Giddy laughter bubbles up in his throat, refusing to be tamped down as exuberant hands clutch at his shirt, brilliant smile almost blinding in its delight.

"I knew you'd come back! I just knew it!"

Mind whirling, Han manages to mutter something about credits and rewards, basking in the almost worshipful light shining in pale blue eyes. He lifts his hand, craving a touch, and savors the thrill of heat from Luke's flushed face against his fingertips, passing off the caress as a playful cuff, before turning to a waiting Leia, still thrumming with energy, a grin stretched wide on his face.

She takes a moment to grace him with an impressed smile before pulling him into an embrace, and he shrugs a little sheepishly, returning it.

There, surrounded by warmth and cheers, Luke's gaze locking him in place, he thinks that staying awhile might not be a bad thing.

* * *

'Awhile' turns into weeks, weeks turn into months, and at some point, while Han was foolishly losing himself in affectionate embraces, admiring glances and easy banter, months turn into years.

It strikes him, as he looks up at the Falcon, damaged in a recent supply run, that he's been waiting. For what, exactly, he doesn't know. He can only identify the anticipation building in his gut, a focused, throbbing feeling he's never paid much attention to, too focused on... other things.

Swallowing, Han turns away from his ship, huddling further into his coat, vaguely grumpy about the fact that they had to settle on a hellish ice planet when he knew damned well most of the rebels had no fur to protect them from the cold. Sniffing, irritated, he stalks off, weaving past various scurrying rebels and makes his way to the vacant room Luke had commandeered as a training space.

He nods at the officers he recognizes, and scowls when he thinks of just how long he's had to be familiar with most of them. Shaking his head, he ducks into his destination, ears picking up Luke's heavy breathing and soft grunts.

Throwing himself into the chair he'd brought out the first time he'd sat in on Luke's training, he watches.

If Han were the type, he'd call Luke's movements a dance, and he'd call that dance beautiful. The arch of Luke's back, the whirl of the lightsaber, the graceful turns and quick jerks of the head, shaking golden hair out of focused blue eyes - Han can't bring himself to breathe, irrationally certain that even the slightest of his movements will ruin the delicate balance Luke seems to create.

Not that Han will ever admit it to anyone.

It doesn’t take long for Han to notice Luke beginning to wind down. His movements slow, as if warning imaginary enemies of the bout's impending end. His eyes slide closed, lightsabre deactivating as he shifts into a neutral stance, soft pants the only sound in the room.

Han only has a minute before Luke's attention turns wholly to him, and he takes the opportunity to admire the flush in Luke's cheeks, the sheen of sweat on Luke's skin, interrupted only by the undershirt he had stripped down to, and the incongruously adorable sight of toes peeking out of loose pants. His lips quirk into a smile, and then-

It clicks in his brain, suddenly, what he's been waiting for. He's almost surprised by how resigned his realization is.

Han lets out a long, low breath. He understands, he thinks, why it hasn't happened, and why it won't for a long time. Luke is focused, almost too focused, on the rebellion; on overthrowing the empire. At no point he can remember has Luke showed any interest in romance of any kind.

 _Unless_ , he thinks, a lump in his throat, _Luke's been keeping secrets._

Han swallows.

Whatever the case, he can’t wait anymore. He should _never_ have been waiting in the first place, and he’s spent far too long hoping for something that’s never going to happen.

His time here is up.

As Luke's eyes flutter open, Han forces a small smirk onto his lips and says, "You're getting the hang of that thing, huh?"

Luke huffs out a laugh, pushing fingers through sweat-damp hair as he closes the distance between them, settling himself on the ground in front of Han.

"I think so," he shrugs lightly, only hints of uncertainty showing in his gaze as he draws a knee up to his chin, position forcing him to peek up at Han through his eyelashes, "I hope so, at least."

"You are," Han assures firmly, ignoring the flash of heat flaring up in his gut as Luke ducks his head, lips quirking up in an embarrassed smile.

He hesitates for only a moment before placing a hand on Luke's shoulder and squeezes lightly.

"You're doing good, kid."

And just as countless times before, the tension in Luke's frame dissipates, a hand lifting from his knee, fingers twining around Han's, interlocking for a brief moment, thumb brushing lightly, gratefully, against Han's skin before he pulls away.

It would be far too easy to get used to this, to revel in whatever power Luke has granted him, that only the murmurings of a few words could affect him so drastically-

Han pulls away and clenches his hands into fists.

He has to leave.

"I have to go back."

He hears himself and thinks that nobody would be fooled by his affected nonchalance. He berates himself silently as Luke's eyes widen, posture straightening in shock.

"You're leaving?"

Han nods, forcing himself not to brush away the lock of hair that had fallen out of place with at the sudden shift.

"I have to pay Jabba," he explains lamely, fully aware of how weak that excuse is.

The both know how long he's been putting that off, and they both know he's fully capable of putting it off even longer. He admits to himself that if he'd allowed himself to imagine a future here, reporting back to Jabba would never be on the table.

 _Still,_ he thinks, _an excuse is an excuse, and if he knows I'm lying, at least he doesn't know the truth._

"I'll leave when the repairs are done," he continues.

He imagines, without meaning to, the journey back. Him, Chewie and the Falcon. Just like before - no rebellion, no one to answer to. No Luke.

"Will you be coming back?" the words cutting through the images that is suddenly all Han can see.

Blinking, he refocuses on Luke, breath catching at the lost gaze.

Slowly, carefully, he shakes his head.

"I don't know," and then suddenly, before he can stop himself, "Come with me."

They both jerk, Luke regarding him with stunned surprise, as Han's mind goes blank.

He knows what Luke's going to say even before he begins to speak, so it comes as no surprise when he hears, "I can't."

"I know," Han says immediately, shaking his head, "I know."

And then Luke is standing, and arms are reaching for him, wrapping him in a firm embrace.

"I'll miss you," came the whisper, low and earnest.

Han stands, Luke's head coming to a rest on his shoulder, and he returns the embrace, breathing in Luke's familiar scent.

"I'll miss you, kid." 

* * *

Weeks pass and he’s galloping out into a blizzard in the middle of the night, and he almost laughs, worry heavy in his throat, thinking it might be just his luck, dying the day before he’s meant to leave.

He can barely feel the cold - blood rushes in his ears as he forces the tauntaun to go faster, faster, until he can feel it trembling, but he can't bring himself to care, not when Luke is out there, alone, possibly injured.

Maybe dead.

"Come on," he growls through gritted teeth, vicious winds whipping away the sound before it can reach him.

It's almost surreal and he can almost pretend it's a dream as the howl of the blizzard crushes all noise but the vague murmur of his voice. The cold bites into the aching flesh of his uncovered cheeks and he can see only the slightest hints of rocks in a flood of blue.

Hell, he doesn't even know if he's going the right way- he shakes his head as he tries to forget that he's putting Luke's life on the line, his life on the line, based on nothing but instinct and a hunch.

_"There's no mystical energy field that controls my destiny."_

The words echo in his mind, mocking, as he bats away the encroaching hopelessness, and swallows.

 _If you exist_ , he thinks, fiercely, _if you exist, then bring me to him! Tell me where he is!_

He receives no reply, but wrenches himself from the thought, wasting no time on bitterness. He presses onward grimly, eyes desperately scanning the surroundings.

"Luke!" he calls, uselessly.

Over and over again, he screams his name, hoping against all logic for an answering cry.

Then, in the distance, something shifts. Han holds his breath, urging the tauntaun to pick up the pace, sparing a moment of regret for pushing it this far, but fixing his eyes on the swaying shadow.

Closer... closer... closer- and suddenly, he can see Luke, collapsed onto unwelcoming snow, still, unmoving.

With a trembling, thankful shout, Han pulls up abruptly, throwing himself off his mount, using the momentum to push himself forward, distantly registering the tauntaun's exhausted whine.

Calling Luke's name, Han slid to his knees, gloved hands reaching, grasping at Luke's bloodied coat, and drags him onto his lap. He shakes him lightly, swallowing at the sight of the open wounds on across Luke's face.

"Come on, give me a sign here," he mutters, leaning in close, breathing a sigh of relief when he feels warm breath ghost along his ear. Shallow, but there. Unwilling to waste any time, Han lifts Luke and turns.

Just in time to see the tauntaun collapse with a last, wheezing groan.

"Hell," Han growls, walking as fast as he dared with Luke attached to him.

He sets Luke down beside the fallen tauntaun and tugs the lightsabre out of Luke's grip, grimacing.

"Sorry, kid," he grunts, as he begins cutting into the corpse of his mount, "This may smell bad."

Tucking the lightsabre into his pocket, he reaches in and scoops out steaming innards, creating what he hopes will be a cradle of heat.

"But it'll keep you warm," he continues, settling Luke in the hollowed out tauntaun, "Till I get the shelter built."

Staggering back, away from the overpowering stench, he circles the dead animal and tugs off the pack attached to it. Brushing the blood and guts off his gloves and onto the snow, Han got to work. 

* * *

In minutes, he has the shelter up and Luke transferred, the kid shifting in his arms, features twisted into a pained grimace, lips mouthing words Han could not hear. He settles Luke in the small tent under a pile of blankets, perching himself in the corner, eyes trained on Luke. He is afraid even to blink, afraid to allow his mind to wander, afraid he might not notice if- when Luke needs him.

His vigilance ensures that he picks up the exact moment Luke begins to shiver. Concerned, he shifts to kneel beside Luke, hands hovering ineffectually over the rapidly worsening tremors.

"Aw hell," he whispers, taking only a second to breathe before deciding to do what had to be done.

He strips off his jacket and the layers underneath, cursing out loud when the unforgiving cold rips into him immediately. With shaking fingers, Han does the same to Luke, and slips in beside him, tossing away the damp clothes and piling the dry ones on top of them.

Luke whines, teeth chattering audibly, and Han pulls him in close, desperately trying to rub heat into frozen skin.

"It's gonna be alright, kid," Han whispers, "You're going to be alright."

Han doesn't stop talking, murmuring words that he might have found nonsensical had he paid any attention to them. He doesn't know how long it takes, can only count sixty-four beats of the pounding in his ear. Slowly, surely, Luke begins to respond to the warmth, and Han allows himself to relax, heart no longer screaming in worry.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, “you’re doing so good, Luke.”

With an almost content mumble, Luke curls into him and the heat he provides. Sighing in relief, Han tangles their legs together and brings them closer together, still rubbing lightly at Luke's arms.

"What am I going to do with you, Luke, huh?" Han says, watching Luke's chest rise and fall, shallow breaths finally growing deeper.

"You're gonna kill yourself, and then where are we gonna be?" Han continues, burying his face in Luke's damp hair, not even the faint scent of tauntaun guts enough to make him want to move away.

"Hell, Luke, just tell me what you want me to do- tell me and I'll do it," voice hoarse, he tightens his hold on Luke, "How many times are you gonna make me ask, huh?"

Luke shifts in his arms, nuzzling into Han's shoulder. Han lifts a hand and buries it in Luke's hair, thumb stroking lightly over Luke's temple.

"Maybe third time's the charm, right, kid?" he murmurs, close enough to feel his eyelashes catch against Luke's skin.

"Come with me," he whispers, pleads, "Don't give your life to the rebellion, Luke. They don't deserve it."

 _Share it with me,_ he wants to say, but even now, with Luke unconscious, he's far too much of a coward. So he quiets, ensures Luke never wants for heat, and keeps a silent vigil until the sky lights with dawn. 

* * *

The fourth time Han asks, he never does.

"You all right?"

_Come with me._

"Yeah."

_Come with me._

"Be careful."

_Come with me._

"You, too."

Pale blue eyes catch his. Lips quirk into a small smile.

_Please._

Luke turns away. 

* * *

The fifth time is the last time.

Han is sitting in the cockpit, sipping mindlessly at the Corellian Brandy he'd been saving. He feels old, so old, and tired. His eyes burn from tears he refuses to shed; he's never been a crying man, and he will not start now. Fumbling for the bottle, he refills his glass, miraculously not spilling a drop.

He thinks suddenly of the way Leia had turned from him a week ago, refusing his comfort, as glittering tracks shimmered in the harsh light of the hangar.

Thinks of the way her dark eyes had shined up at him in the aftermath of the Battle of Endor, before she leaned in, pressing a firm, lingering kiss to his lips. His hands had gone to her waist, his mouth falling open with shock. The crackle of the bonfire behind them had seemed suddenly distant, and he had looked at her and her confident grin, and thought to himself how so, very easy it would be to love her.

Thinks of the pride and love in her eyes, almost certainly mirroring his as she cradled Ben in her arms, sweaty and flushed, but still beautiful.

Thinks of the stubborn set of her jaw, the anger flashing in her eyes as she insisted on sending Ben to a distant Luke to train him in the ways of the Jedi.

Han snorts, knocking back the brandy in one gulp, and refills the glass again.

No accusations had been thrown; no blame had laid on any single person. All the same, the hurt could not be shared. Maybe they had grown too far apart, it could be that the loss of a child - who had turned away willingly - was too much, and the last threads that had held them together had been snapped with just a few words.

"Ben has turned," wavering voice, hitched breath, "to the Dark Side."

Han's throat closes up, and he almost cannot swallow, the sweet alcohol cloying in his mouth, and burns down his throat. Shoving the bottle and glass aside, he collapses onto the flight controls and closes his eyes, finally allowing sleep to claim him. 

* * *

When he wakes, his mouth is dry and his head is pounding. Nothing he can't live through, but when he opens his eyes, it's to a familiar pale blue gaze. Luke is looking down at him, expression blank, as he leans back in the seat next to Han's.

Han blinks, and groans, shaking his head. Straightening, he lifts his arms up into a stretch and vows to never pass out in the cockpit again.

"Luke," he greets, voice gravelly.

"Han."

Clearing his throat, Han squints at Luke, "What're you doing here?"

Luke's lips quirk into a small smile, "Just visiting a friend."

"Yeah?" Han grunts, suddenly annoyed, "So all it takes to get you here is our son turning to the dark side, huh? Good to know."

Luke's smile vanishes, and he shakes his head, "Han," he chides.

Painful as it had been to see, Han suddenly yearns for the defeated Jedi who had appeared to them a week ago. Red-rimmed eyes, thick voice, trembling hands- tearing mercilessly at Luke's signature Jedi calm and serenity.

The memory is enough to bring up a surge of remorse, and he turns away, swallowing.

"Sorry."

Luke regards him for a moment or two before he responds, "It's alright," Han hears Luke hesitate and waits to see if he'll speak.

"I wanted to visit. Many times," Luke's voice, almost placating, manages to both soothe and irritate Han at the same time, "There was just always so much to do."

"And you couldn't get away," Han finished, unable to keep a hint of bitterness out of his tone.

Luke nods, and for a while, neither of them can think of what to say. And then-

"Han-"

"I'm leaving."

They both stop, eyeing the other, and it is a moment before Luke inclines his head with a hint of a smile.

"So am I."

And Han doesn't know why he says it- doesn't know why he's trying, but blurts out, "Come with me."

Luke blinks slowly before beginning, apologetically, "I'm going to search for the first Jedi Temple."

Han leans forward, towards Luke, eager and feeling suddenly _alive_ for the first time in a long while, "Then let us go with you- Luke, please-"

"I can't," Luke says softly, firmly, "I'm sorry."

Then he stands, turns, and walks away, leaving Han behind.

Han stares at the vacated seat, almost in shock. His hand reaches out, fingers brushing against the still warm leather, and then clenches into a fist. He slams it into the stiff material once, twice, and collapses back into his seat, head in his hands.

 _Somewhere in the universe_ , he thinks desperately, swallowing against the tears in his throat, _there must be an ending where Luke decides to stay._

 _Force, let it be this one._  

* * *

It’s been years, and the sight of his son was enough to bring tears to his eyes.

He wonders for a single, hysterical second, if Ben had missed before the agony sweeps through his body, and he knows he cannot survive this.

 _Ben_ , he tries to say, _Ben_ -

He raises a hand, fingers brushing against warm tear tracks.

_You are so loved._

And suddenly, a primal scream, devastated and disbelieving. His name. Luke's voice.

_Luke._

Ben's eyes widen, surprise and a hint of fear shining in dark eyes before he is thrown across the bridge. Footsteps sound behind Han and hands clutch at his shoulders as his knees buckle.

Then he's looking up at Luke, head pillowed on Luke's lap, looking into eyes that had always been so calm- so calm. Dark now; angry and afraid.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," choked and hoarse, "I was too late- I saw, but I was-"

Han hushes him, breaths increasingly shallow, and shakes his head.

"M' just glad you're here, kid," he forces out, ending the sentence with a desperate gasp for air.

"Han-"

"Stop hiding," he mumbles, eyes slipping closed even as he tries for a mock glare, "Leia needs you."

He feels Luke's hand on his cheek, and leans into the touch.

"Han- no, Han, stay with me! Please!"

Han smiles, would have laughed at the irony, had he only the energy.

"I can't," he brushes Luke's fingers with his, "I'm sorry."

"No-!"

"Tell me," Han rasps, burning up the last of his energy, "Tell me you love me."

"I do," Luke breathes, "I do love you; I always have."

 _Good,_ he thinks, _Good._

And with a quiet breath, he slips into the darkness.

**Author's Note:**

> SPOILERY POSSIBLE WARNING: Major Character Death
> 
> I was hesitant to mark this down as a warning because I kind of wanted to leave it open-ended. You can believe that he dies, or you can believe that help got to them in time and he survived!
> 
> As always, please do inform me if I've forgotten a critical warning or anything of the sort- I'd be very grateful!
> 
> Anyway- I hope you've enjoyed the story; thank you for reading and please do leave a review if you have the time and/or inclination!


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